


Songbird

by Enigmatree



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bottom Castiel, Guardsman!Dean, Hurt/Comfort, Insane-Overpowered-Angel!Castiel, Insanity, It's less fluffy than it sounds, Multi, Or close enough, Top Dean, Violence, but still fluffy, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14483625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigmatree/pseuds/Enigmatree
Summary: The Angel is a living horror, a half-mad monstrosity haunting the once-safe streets of Fort Lawrence. An unfeeling, stone-cold creature of death. A natural calamity stuck in their home.Except he's apparently also a protector of children, lover of nature, watcher of bees and someone who irrationally hates his singing despite being good enough to sink a ship or two with his voice.Dean Winchester, guardsman and newly appointed Captain of the Order, is decidedly not paid enough to deal with this shocking new knowledge. All he knows is that this abominable, heartless monster who habitually helps stranded bees and birds (and his wide blue eyes) is pinging his protective instincts so hard Dean's more likely to bring the Angel blankets to huddle in than kill him.Talk about a conundrum.





	Songbird

**Author's Note:**

> SO, hello fans of Supernatural. I'm nervous as hell to be writing for a new fandom so I'll be posting in the middle of the night, with probably less editing than I should have done, before I chicken out. More tags will be added as I keep posting. I will possibly re-edit it all later. But for now, sorry for any mistakes you find. ^-^
> 
> Feel free to help make the fic better through suggestions and criticisms and whatnot. But for love's sake, please, please be nice. I come in peace!
> 
> Anyway, hopefully, enjoy! XD

 

It was night in the normally overcrowded and narrow cobblestone streets of Fort Lawrence, and while most of its residents were sleeping happily in their home, a pair of guards was standing just in front of the high walls around a giant park, clothed in the uncomfortable entirety of their garrison’s uniform— complete with their silver coated chest pieces and shoulder and forearm guards. Not only were they miserably awake, but they were also put there for the _worst_ mission in all of Lawrence. Thankfully, they endured the mixed feelings of absolute boredom and freezing terror together, in solidarity.

Or rather, that was what they should have been doing.

Instead though, Dean was leaning on the brick wall and basically doing nothing but breathing in the misty night air and praying for this mission to end well. Not only that, but he was doing it alone. Because his _most_ trustworthy and loyal partner, Benny, was entertaining himself by telling a horror story to the collection of small children that had tried to enter the Park. By himself.

Dean huffed. 

Traitor.

“—and Jack heard a soft noise behind him, too quiet to be heard anywhere but in the dead silent alleyways of Lawrence. His hands shook over his sword and his heart beat like the wings of a trapped fly,” Benny was whispering with a hand over his own heart— the dim, iron streetlamp next to him was sticking ominous shadows across his face, “fast and desperate.”

“He turned around slowly, wishing he had thought to refuse the night patrol, wishing he hadn't told his friends he’d go home alone. Time almost seemed to freeze as his eyes slid across the alleyway,” He slowed appropriately, pitching his voice lower to force the listening group of children to lean in, “but there was nothing to see but the shifting darkness.”

“A crow croaked above him. He jumped. Craw, craw, craw.” Benny made the crowing noise, “Three times the crow had croaked before even that fell silent. Everything fell silent. Jack’s eyes swept the empty, looming walls of the alleyway for a second time, this time more assured, because there wasn’t anything there.”

“There wasn’t anything there but Jack, the silence, and the empty _empty_ shadows...”

The children’s eyes widened and their breaths abated, and the glimmer in Benny’s eyes was the one that still had Sam circling away from windows at night— just in case a random man decided to jump in with a ‘boo!’. The man stopped for a few seconds, leaving them all listening to their own slow breaths.

Benny hissed: “Then the shadow staggered out!”

Two children jumped, one gasped, and one started hiccupping. It was, admittedly, the funniest thing Dean had seen in weeks.

“What came was almost just a grisly human, dirty and ugly, looking like he hadn't eaten anything since the last war, but no… It wasn’t human at all.” Benny said, voice low and tone scared, “There were two black, mangled appendages dragging on the floor behind him, leaving a smudge of red on his trail with every step, snapped feathers dripping blood. Its face was gaunt and its eyes were like two pinholes of ice blue, glinting in the dark. Jack’s breath got stuck in his throat.”

He paused, and Dean heard one of the kids whisper softly; “ _Angel_ ”.

“It was the Angel.” Benny nodded in agreement, “The last thing Jack saw was two gigantic feathery shadows race towards him before he turned around and ran away, with the angel racing towards him. He was screaming for help as loud as he could. And if you listen closely,” The man cocked his ear out, “you can still hear the echoes of those screams flit through the streets of Lawrence like lingering ghosts.”

The children were grouped up in front of them on the sidewalk. Their rowdy leader was standing in the front with her ball held forgotten in her two hands, hiding the smallest one with his wide misty eyes and a runny nose behind herself, and the rest of them were all clutching at each other and listening in rupture.

It wasn’t exactly necessary to scare them all this badly, but Benny couldn’t be stopped once he started and Dean guessed that this would make sure the kids stayed away. So Dean let himself relax and enjoy the show.

“No one ever saw Jack again.” Benny finished off before adding ominously; “But consider this: Jack is still gone, and the Angel is back to lurk in the Park behind me… Who knows what could have happened?”

The small brunette in front of Dean, the leader, pursed her lips in a valiant attempt at not looking scared. “We just have to not go into the Park, right?” She asked, and her voice very pointedly _did not_ waver, and her big grey eyes very pointedly _did not_ water, “ _I’m_ not afraid of the Angel.”

The rest of the kids all gazed at her with comical amounts of awe. Seriously. _Hilarious_.

But it had to come to an end before Benny took this any further. And not just because he was a shit storyteller.

(Mostly because Dean was afraid the kids’ parents would tell on them and he would get a nice dressing-down from Bobby.)

“Okay, kiddo,” Dean interjected, pushing himself out of the shadows on the brick wall and into the yellow lamp-light. He crouched as he talked to the little leader, “Now, I’m sure you’re stronger than that stupid Angel, but it’s kind of a rule, and me and Benny here, we have to make sure everybody goes along with it. So how about you and your friends play on another street and let us avoid having to tell our boss why the Angel got beaten up on our watch?”

“O-okay.” The girl said, faux-reluctantly. “But only for you.”

Benny’s feet shuffled next to him, possibly in want of telling Dean just how ridiculous that notion was, but the man stayed silent. The group of kids all nodded one by one, following the brunette as she bounded away with new enthusiasm, the ball still in her hands. Pitching his voice into a more serious tone, Dean called out one last time behind them; “And no approaching the Park, okay?”

The leader turned on her heel, sized him up with her narrow eyes, then nodded. Her group flittered away around the corner of the Park, and out of sight, running towards some better-lit street.

Dean sighed and got back up. He let out a hollow huff; “’No one ever saw him again’, huh. You chickened out at the last minute, Benny?”

Benny shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? Tell the babies that a newspaper boy found Jack’s body the next morning as chunks of bloody flesh spread around the alleyway? Nah, I think ‘no one ever saw him again’ is the way to go.”

Dean decided that not answering that was a better answer than anything else he could come up with. It _was_ , indeed, the way to go.

They were quiet for a few seconds, just standing around doing their job next to the Park’s grand iron gates. Then, letting himself sag onto the streetlamp next to Dean, Benny looked deeply at the treetops shooting from inside the Park. “Fucking Angel,” He breathed out.

Dean was inclined to agree.

It was almost funny, in a mostly hysterical way, how much a single creature could terrorise their Fort when they had scared away every other manner of creature. There was no precedent for the Angel. Nothing they could do to so much as scratch it. Nothing they could do to get it out of their home.

It had been more than a century since the Angel settled inside the walls of the fort city of Lawrence. A whole century since they first had the half-mad monstrosity haunting the narrow streets of their home— immortal, invincible and impossible to chase away.

From his childhood, Dean remembered maybe one fact or two about his quirky history teacher, but the one thing that she had said and that Dean would never forget was that once upon a time —back before the monsters were as strong and numerous, back before humans became prey to their might— humans used to pray to angels.

That humans used to say ‘Angel’ and mean ‘Guardian’.

Dean had been floored because for so long, the humans of Fort Lawrence had yelled ‘Angel’, and they had meant ‘Monster’. He hadn't been able to so much as imagine otherwise.

Or rather, more accurately, they had yelled ‘Angel’ and then they had never yelled ever again. Because they were dead.

Dean shook his head— these weren’t the best things to think when the very creature was one wall and maybe a few meters behind him.

“And what are you doing shooing away our only entertainment on the worst guard-duty this side of the continent, Brother?” Benny teased, tone dry. Dean focused back on him. “You’ve gone cruel with power.”

A snort escaped him as he stepped back to lean once again against the rough bricks enclosing the Park. “Power? What power? More like a con of a promotion. If I had known that being made Captain just meant more hours spent on the Bird-Watch shift, rewarded by heaps of paperwork to be inked, and oh, _no benefits whatsoever_ , I never would have accepted it.”

“No benefits? Surely you got a raise at least?” His fellow guardsman asked, one eyebrow raised.

Dean sighed again. “Apparently the Crime and War Division is struggling with money, and despite needing someone to fill in the gaps, they can’t afford to pay the Order for it. I suspect that’s why they promoted me and not Jo. She would flip the fuck out if they asked her to do any more ‘free labour’. I didn’t even get a _new gun_.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Brother,” said Benny, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder, “you were already the first choice for a promotion, long before the budget got cut to cover the council’s collective ass for their idiotic trade policies. We all knew you were the only one who could take over the Squad when Bobby retired for his beloved library, officially or not.”

Dean dipped his head, embarrassment catching onto his cheeks at the thought that his friends all expected _him_ to lead them— not for his rank or their duty, but because they thought he could do it. Instead of letting it show any more, he admonished Benny; “You know if Bobby heard you say that, he’d beat you to death with a journal. He’s retiring to ‘give a chance to the youngsters’, not because he misses his huge-ass library.”

A chuckle, and Benny leaned his head onto the dark iron of the streetlamp. The cheap lightbulb flickered above him. “I’ll believe that when I see him caressing a weapon as I saw him caress those books; so tenderly I thought I was gonna hurl. I swear that man feels _things_ for those dusty pieces of writing.”

“If you think that’s disgusting, you should see how Sammy looks at a new book; you can practically smell the flowers of love blossom.” He joked, subtly avoiding the subject of Bobby’s library. Benny hadn’t been in the Order back when it used to be Bobby’s wife Karen’s library, and there was no reason for Dean to air the old man’s heart around. “Dad’s going to hurt himself one of these days, he’s so mad— Sam told everyone that he was going to join the Stanford Scholar’s Association, he didn’t wanna be in the Order. Likes reading too much, that kid. Mom was the only thing that kept Dad from disowning him on the spot. It’s a real, live forbidden love story.”

Benny laughed until he was almost choking. “How did John not see it! It was obvious from the start,” he exclaimed between laughs and gasps, “no way was that kid gonna join the Order. Oh dear God, it was so obvious! How the hell did they not know that?”

“Wishful thinking?” shrugged Dean. Looking back at it, it had been pretty obvious to anyone who had had a fifteen-minute conversation with the kid. Sammy wasn’t capable of hurting anything; monster or not, enemy or not. The kid wanted to learn, and he knew how to get what he wanted.

One way or another.

“Brother, those must have been some real strong wishes.” Benny declared and Dean grimaced. That was true. They had been some real strong wishes.

When Dean didn’t speak up, Benny glanced at him. Perhaps realizing that he had struck a chord, he fell silent with Dean instead of apologising or doing anything equally as awkward. He was thoughtful like that.

They quietly watched the wide road in front of them. Its width had always been jarring for Dean who had spent a lifetime in the narrow, tight streets and endlessly rising connected buildings of Fort Lawrence. It was equally as jarring now.

But overpopulation or not, there was no way the citizens of Lawrence would allow the road to be thinned, not when it ran next to the Northern Park.  

No one had any wish to pass close by the old Park— not since its construction fifty years ago, claimed as it by the Angel who had taken an immediate liking to it. It had been built back when the population wasn’t such a huge problem and it was bigger than one-sixth of the entire city. If it hadn't been the monster’s favourite dwelling, the council would have long had it torn down for more living space.

Instead, it was a small forest off-limits to anyone and everyone, for their own safety. No sane person would enter it willingly, but anyone who was too young or too drunk to actually want to trespass was stopped by Dean and Benny, or whichever other poor guard was on the Birdwatch; tailing the Angel from a safe distance wherever it went, closing off buildings and streets if necessary, making sure no one encountered it by accident. Or trying to do so, anyway.

As Dean watched, another cart — this one full of hay— passed through the dark cobblestone road. The large mare pulling it was making nervous little head shakes as if it could feel the presence of the great monster prowling somewhere behind Dean. It walked fast and scared. The few people still walking around at this time of the night passed by yet faster and yet more scared, grouping on the other side of the road and throwing wide-eyed glances towards the heavy darkness of the Northern Park— the night unbroken inside with the streetlamps placed there long since never lit.

Despite the misty yellow light of the lamp next to him illuminating him brightly, Dean felt even more enveloped by the darkness than the passers-by walking through the soft shadows of the buildings across the street.

God but he hated Birdwatch duty.

 

* * *

 

 

The clocktower above the fort’s city hall had long rung five times when a commotion started around the lip of one of the roads tying into the wide street that Dean was watching in his infinite boredom. To his right, Benny was still inspecting his sword’s silver-engraved runes.

The crowd of people collected there, watching something near the blurry darkness of one of the smaller roads, opened up like birds before a cat when a streak of white appeared hurtling through them. It had appeared so suddenly that for a second, Dean thought he had imagined it. He turned his head with the moving white silhouette, following it as it hit someone coming from the other side of the sidewalk and didn’t even pause when the man fell down.

It was coming, desperately and with great haste, towards Dean.

And as the silhouette dashed into the light of the street-lamps, Dean suddenly saw that it was a panicked woman, her long white nightgown billowing as she ran. Her black hair was tangled into something that waved behind her with every fast jump and while she swiftly came nearer and nearer, Dean noticed her familiar wide grey eyes as they filled with fear and tears.

Immediately, the hairs behind his neck stood.

The woman collided with a shocked Benny before she could stop, but that didn’t even phase her— just like her state of undress didn’t seem to. She didn’t wait to catch her breath before crying out:

“My daughter, you have to save my daughter!”

Dean froze.

“What happened? Madam, madam please…” Benny tried, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder, “Calm down and tell us what’s wrong. Where is your daughter?”

Dean tried very hard not to grab the sobbing woman and shake her until she stopped crying and told them exactly what happened to her kid. He was normally the better one at dealing with hysterical victims; just not when there were more important things in the equation. Not when there were kids in danger.

But through her insistent heaves of “ _please, please_ ”, the woman was trying hard to compose herself, trying to breathe, and eventually she managed to gasp out; “My, my daughter— her friends told me, she sneaked out, came here to play. She went into the Park! They told me, they told me...”

The blood froze inside Dean’s veins, seeing but not registering how Benny stumbled back from the woman in shock. The little leader; the one who had seemed so headstrong, so brave. The woman’s grey eyes were an exact replica of her blazing ones and now, her face was obvious in its familiarity. The missing daughter was the little brunette leading that group of children.

Dean was the one who had challenged that girl, put it in her mind to sneak into the Park. Dean was the one who had hand-wrapped her for the Angel’s brutal pleasure.

He had sent that girl to her death, thinking that he was keeping her safe.

“She went into _the Park_ …” The mother sobbed again, face buried in her hands.

“I’ll go.” Dean declared. Someone gasped.

It wasn’t a hard decision, not when he didn’t have to think. There had never really been an option anyways. Not as the mother wept, howling and choking into her clenched hands, knowing that there was nothing left to be done, knowing that not a single human had ever faced the Angel and survived. Not as a little brave girl was trying that very thing in the darkness behind him.

Benny’s hand grabbed onto him, and Dean startled momentarily, enough to see the man shaking his head in hopeless denial. But the moment passed and Dean shook off the hand, ignoring his best friend's horrified “ _Brother no!_ ”s.

Dean marched towards the heavy iron gates of the Northern Park, chained and locked shut for more than fifty years, not letting himself hesitate or pause.

If he paused, he wouldn’t be able to do it.

He didn’t pause.

 

* * *

 

 

Within his first few steps into the wild, untamed insides of the Park, Dean was swallowed completely by the oppressive darkness. The colours disappeared fast, tracks even faster. Everything was a goop of black and dark grey, and even the bright light of the moon couldn’t seep through the overgrown canopy.

It took maybe ten seconds before the sights and smells of the fort was replaced by the darkness and heavy nature smell of the ‘Park’. It was more of a lush jungle than a park.

No other sense available to him, Dean tried to follow any human sound he could make out through the frantic beat of his heart. He couldn’t hear anything but the background of birds hooting and crying, the wind rustling leaves.

That, and his heart thumping, thumping, thumping. Making him nervous— so wound up that he was jumping before every shadow.

Dean tried not to wonder if he would wander aimlessly forever if the girl couldn’t make a sound before she was killed. He couldn’t get out without finding her, but if this trail didn’t end up leading him to her…

It wasn’t like there was a map of this place or something. No one had entered the Northern Park, not since it was first constructed. And he couldn’t exactly collect the townsfolk to aid him in his search. Who else would be so stupid as to enter the Park with him?

He was just ducking out from under the low hanging branches of a gigantic pine when he finally heard something. He felt his muscles cramp in fear, freezing him in place. Coming from ahead of him, maybe a little to the right, there was the sobbing wail of a child in distress. His eyes snapped to the source, and he had to squeeze them shut when the moonlight in the clearing proved too bright for their darkness-adjustments.

The treeline ended ahead of him, opening up to a grassy slope with a meagre stream flowing to his left.

Dean’s eyes widened in revulsion. The blue-white moonlight illuminated the wide clearing in a ghastly contrast straight out of black and white tragedy photos; it was shining on the sickly pale pallor of the Angel’s skin, slipping ineffectively off of its claw-like black wings— it was bright on the little girl crawling backwards in fear, glimmering tear tracks running down her face. Everything else was swallowed by endless darkness.

It looked almost like a painting, a single scene of monstrous evil frozen in time and space.

One of the Angel’s enormous flight feathers jerked forwards, and the illusion broke all too suddenly. The giant wings tensed back in place, but the little leader was already letting out a blood-curdling scream— Dean bounded forward like a startled jackalope before he knew why he was running.

But he was running, and he was running fast.

He skidded to a stop in front of the wailing girl, in between her and the monster.

If his heart had been beating fast before, now it was beating like a hummingbird trapped; desperately rapid. Dean had been in life and death circumstances before, had faced innumerable monsters stronger faster smarter than him, had faced odds so well-stacked against himself that it couldn’t even be called a gamble. More like assisted suicide. He had feared for his life before.

Yet he had never been so coiled with dread. His mind had never felt so iced in fear that even his sense of time unravelled and fell apart, every second stretching like a lifetime not lived.

He had never looked up into the unfeeling eyes of a monster and stopped breathing, felt the sweeping robes of Death brush his fingertips.

The wind had quietened and a muffled silence had hushed the clearing. Even the sound of his racing heart was now silent. The only thing Dean could hear was the audible shudders going through the little girl behind him.

But her sobbing had abated after the shocked gasp he heard from her when his shadow fell over her protectively between her and the monster, and that was perhaps the only small measure of comfort he needed before his death.

The monster, on the other hand, was unnaturally still. The moonlight that hit it from its back dropped long and sharp shadows down its cheeks and nose, making it look gnarled and freaky. Only its frozen blue eyes could be distinguished and that too was only because flecks and sparks of shining blue light swam dizzyingly inside them. It just stood there, a statue of death and madness, not moving but for the inexplicable, subtle jerking of its wings. It didn’t move, and it didn’t move, and it didn’t move.

And when it did move—

—it stumbled back a step. Its feathery appendages stretched almost threateningly towards them and Dean’s breath hitched. But even they eventually snapped behind the Angel.

Dean held his breath.

The Angel fixed its bright blue eyes on the girl behind Dean, opened its mouth, closed it, stumbled back another step. Then yet another. It was retreating, seemingly with great struggle, all the while muttering in an increasingly loud voice that let Dean slowly start to make the words out.

“She’s a baby.” The Angel was whispering to itself, “She’s a baby. I can’t— She’s not— she’s a fledgling. I can’t. I can’t, it’s not right, she’s innocent, she’s pure. They wouldn’t, not this. She’s a _fledgling_. I _can’t_. _It’s not right_.”   

Dean felt his choking fear —his desperation towards an unavoidable, unforgiving death— abate just a little at the crumbs of possibility now appearing before him. Determination, shaky but hopeful, made his terror-numbed mind start back with a halting turn of gears. He formulated plan after plan, using anything and everything he had ever learned during hunts and missions to pull one single manoeuvre and get them, or at least the little girl, out of this alive.

When he did find one, it was an insane idea. An idiotic idea.

His only idea.

Eyes tracking the monster’s every move, Dean pulled the little girl out from behind him with trembling hands and dragged her onto the dark grass, better into the Angel’s line of vision. The kid froze so hard she was practically made of stone, and Dean was already tense and ready to jump before her should the monster attack. It didn’t. It’s shining blue eyes zeroed onto the girl, and with a hitch of its breath, the Angel took another step back.

With that as encouragement, Dean pulled the most senseless plan of action to have ever been used on the monster. He talked.

“She’s just a kid,” He told the monster in his most soothing, serene voice. Its eyes flickered towards Dean’s for a single millisecond, and if Dean saw the abject horror in their blue depths, that was only because his eyes were already trained on the monster’s. “She hasn’t done anything wrong, she just wants to live.” Dean thought back to everything the monster had mumbled, mind working furiously, “She’s pure, she’s an innocent. She’s just a ‘fledgling’.”

The monster was at a decent distance away from them, but Dean knew it wouldn’t take the creature more than a single second to kill them if they ran. And yet the more Dean talked, the farther the monster stepped back. So, he kept talking.

“Look at her,” Dean demanded softly, apologising inwardly at the girl for forcing her chin up and making the Angel look into her teary eyes, “She’s so scared. She didn’t do anything wrong, nothing to deserve this. You know that, right? She’s just a ‘fledgling’. She’s just a _kid_.”

The Angel flinched like he never did when he was physically struck, not as far as the humans knew, and his eyes went pained and sorrowful behind a thin film of stone-cold brutality that Dean had always thought ran deeper.

It was working, it was working and fuck pride, fuck honour, Dean was begging as hard as it was necessary to get the kid to safety.

“Please let her live, she’s just a ‘fledgling’,” He asked calmly, with as little actual demand in his voice as he could manage, but the monster looked like it was working itself up to do something. “She’s just a kid. _Just a kid_. _Please_ let her live, _I beg you_.”

Whatever it was building inside itself, the monster snapped it all into place after Dean’s last sentence. Its bright eyes glanced between the two humans in front of it and its lips pursed, determined. Dean’s stomach dropped to the bottom of his boots in terror. The monster had made its mind. And by the crazed look in its eyes, it was not about to do what Dean had asked. Dean’s hold on the little girl tightened and he distantly noted that she had long passed out. That was probably for the best.

His plan had backfired. They were dead.

_Bye Sammy, everyone._

Dean shut his eyes closed.

This was it.

But then—

“Go.” There came a hoarse, crackling voice.

Dean glanced up in disbelief and into the swirling blues of the Angel’s eyes. Mirrored there, he saw nothing but his own scared determination. The Angel told him, voice crumbling with the dust and gravel of someone who had indeed not talked for the past decade or so; “Take the fledgling and go, fast.”

“What…” He whispered— shock, fear and something uncomfortably akin to awe jamming his throat, sticking his tongue.

The Angel shook its head, bringing its hands up to clench into its messy black hair. “ _Go!_ ” It croaked vehemently.

Dean didn’t have to be told a fourth time. He grabbed the little girl and ran straight back into the cover of the trees.

Only— when he was dashing into the forest path through which he had found the girl and the monster, he turned his head for a single glance back. Still draped under the moonlight, the Angel was on its knees and hands over the grass, its fingers were digging into the soil.

Faintly, its gravelly voice reached Dean where he was at the edge of the grassy slope. There was something staggering about the way the Angel’s whole body shook as it keened; “ _I won’t— I won’t, I WON’T_.”

Dean felt something deep, deep inside him fracture before the sight.

But there was nothing to do but go, so that was what he did.


End file.
